


quiet, like the snow

by ColorsofaYinYang



Series: mcyt fics [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Exiled TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Forehead Kisses, Gen, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Hurt/Comfort, Miscommunication, Platonic Cuddling, Toby Smith | Tubbo Misses TommyInnit, TommyInnit Misses Toby Smith | Tubbo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:20:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28992819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorsofaYinYang/pseuds/ColorsofaYinYang
Summary: Tommy fakes his death and gets to attend his own funeral. He witnesses Tubbo's grief and is very confused.Why is Tubbo so sad if he knows Tommy's still alive?(Spoiler: he doesn't.)
Relationships: Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Series: mcyt fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2130342
Comments: 17
Kudos: 582





	quiet, like the snow

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Why’d it have to be so sunny? (The sun shouldn’t shine without you.)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28352394) by [AToZRainToBe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AToZRainToBe/pseuds/AToZRainToBe). 
  * Inspired by [today is someday](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28398948) by [anetherealmelody](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anetherealmelody/pseuds/anetherealmelody). 



> Inspired by two amazing works, linked above, that make me cry every time. "Why'd it have to be so sunny?" is the main inspiration as this fic directly correlates to it and reuses some of its dialogue. I highly reccomend checking it out. "today is someday" is another great one although it has more trigger-worthy content. Both are amazing and kudos to both authors for making such great angsty content.
> 
> Title from Louder Than Thunder by The Devil Wears Prada.

It’s funny, Tommy thinks, how many people have shown up to his funeral. Not funny in the hilarious, back-breaking laughter kind of way; a bittersweet kind of funny, one that leaves a metal aftertaste in his mouth. Sitting in the dark oak pews he spots people that he weren’t particularly close to: Niki, Sam, Bad, Antfrost… people he had picked fights with: Fundy, George, Sapnap, Eret… his close friends: Quackity, Ranboo… his family: Phil, Techno, Ghostbur. 

And then there’s Tubbo.

Dream is up on the podium, giving his introductory speech, and just the sound of his voice makes Tommy’s head go all staticky and strange. But it’s nothing compared to the sight of Tubbo, huddled in the front row and looking absolutely destroyed. Even from his position perched on the roof of the nearby building Tommy can see the dark bags under his best friend’s eyes, the messy tangle of his hair. He stares off into space through Dream’s intro, and through the transition, and through Phil’s speech.

If Tommy hadn’t already been concerned, the way Tubbo shuffles up to the podium and has to take a moment to breathe would have done it for him. The brunette scans the crowd with those lifeless, haunted eyes, looking for something that he doesn’t seem to find. “It’s… it’s nice to see so many people here,” he starts. It sounds like the words are stuck in his throat, like he’s forcing them out. “I-I think Tommy would have liked to know so many people cared about him.” 

“I know that towards the end, me and him.. had our differences. I wish I‘d told him that I never meant to- to hurt him. That all I wanted was peace, and- and I should have tried a little harder to keep him here.” Tommy tilts his head at this, brow furrowing in confusion. _I_ _s this Tubbo’s confession, his apology? Sure, Tubbo’s made mistakes, but Tommy’s fucked up just as much. Why would he say this now, when Tommy can’t apologize back?_

“Sure, he was complicated, but h-he lit the place up. Brighter than any Christmas lights. He is… was, my best friend.” Tubbo sniffles, and Tommy’s heart aches. “I don’t think anyone can replace him, and the things he… he did. I’m gonna miss him.”

The silence stretches on as everyone watches Tubbo crumble apart at the podium, wiping tears away from his cheek with the back of his hand. “I’m gonna miss him so, so much,” he sobs, and then he stumbles his way to the back row and curls into a ball. 

Tommy stares, not even registering that his invis pot is about to run out. “Tubbo,” he murmurs desperately, his chest empty and hurting. He is sad, and guilty, and most of all confused. _Tubbo’s… never been that good of an actor, right?_

Alarm bells start ringing in his head.

Something’s wrong.

~

Silence has never been something Tommy’s particularly enjoyed, always wanting to fill the void with chatter and laughter. It was made worse in exile, when he would sit by the jukebox and listen to discs for hours just to get away from the quiet in his own head. 

But he can’t bring himself to break the silence now, on the walk back to Techno’s house, despite how uncomfortable it makes him. The only sounds that grace his ears are the whisper of the wind over the tundra, the crunch of his boots as they sink into the snow, and the occasional baa from Friend. No one is talking. No one wants to.

Bitter cold bites into his skin as they trudge along. Tommy wants to complain, but he can’t make his tongue form the shapes it needs to. He flinches as the frozen metal of his compass brushes against the warm skin of his chest, but after the initial chill he tucks it into his shirt to heat it up. After a few more minutes of walking the silhouette of Techno’s house finally appears in the distance, a welcoming beacon of shelter, alongside the shadow of Tommy’s massive cobblestone tower.

The interior heating of the house prickles his skin, but it doesn’t manage to chase away the icy feeling in his heart. Techno kicks the snow off his boots while Phil hangs up his winter coat, and Ghostbur comes in a second later after making sure Friend is safe in their pen. They linger in the foyer, not quite looking at each other, none of them knowing what to say.

The silence is overwhelming, and Tommy can’t take it any longer. “Did- uh. Fuck, okay, is Tubbo… is Tubbo alright?” His thoughts are cluttered, disorganized, and they spill from his lips in broken stutters. “That didn’t- that hit hard, Philza Minecraft. Big T doesn’t seem… okay.” 

That’s a bit of an understatement, with the way that Tubbo was sobbing by the end of the funeral. But he still can’t understand why. Unless…

Phil makes the connection seconds before he does. “Wi- Ghostbur,” he says, face gone white as a sheet. “You definitely told Tubbo that Tommy’s alive, right?” 

The ghost cocks his head and smiles unsurely, a look of confusion on his face, and that’s when it hits Tommy. His best friend thinks he’s dead. Tubbo, his Tubbo, has that haunted expression because of him. Those tears trailing down his pale cheeks are his fault. 

The buzzing in his ears gets louder. As he stares blankly at the wall, his fingers start to go numb. The sound of Techno and Phil starting to panic over the miscommunication blurs into the background as a single thought repeats on loop in his head.

_Tubbo thinks I’m dead._

_Tubbo thinks I’m dead._

_Tubbo thinks I’m dead._

_…But I’m not._

“Guys. Big men. Biggest of men,” Tommy blurts, snapping himself out of his daze. His eyes dart desperately back and forth between the three men. “I’d kind of like to know, y’know, uh, what the fuck do we do now?”

~

Phil goes to fetch Tubbo and comes back empty-handed. Tommy almost freaks out and attempts to make a beeline for the portal before the winged man stops him with a hand on his shoulder. He explains he left a compass on the president’s desk, and that Tubbo would be on his way before noon. Pacified but not satisfied, Tommy nods and climbs the ladder up to the second floor so he can get a better view of the surrounding land.

It’s quiet in the house, but not the suffocating kind of quiet. He can hear Phil shuffling around as he cooks, the sound of chests opening and the scratch of a quill over paper as Techno takes stock of his items. From outside the cracked-open window Ghostbur’s humming floats in from where he’s brushing Friend. The occasional chirp from Edward and the constant chatter of the villagers living in the basement fill the gaps in-between.

It’s nice, and it gives Tommy room to think. Tubbo doesn’t know he’s still alive. He had no reason to lie at the funeral. All those things he said, the regret in his voice and the way he had cried… it was all real.

Obviously Tommy knows Tubbo cares about him… but with the exile, the way Tubbo’s eyes had hardened at that one moment before ordering him to leave, and then the weeks spent apart without a visit and with Dream whispering lies into his ears, there… may have been some doubts festering in his mind. Not anymore. Tubbo loves him just as much as he loves Tubbo, that much is evident. The only question now is how to drop the news of his not-actual death.

It _hurts_ to see Tubbo in pain, but at the same time it’s almost a touch relieving. The way that Tubbo is suffering only affirms that he made the right decision, jumping into water that fateful night. It further fuels his drive to live, not only for his own sake but Tubbo’s as well. There’s no way Dream can twist this around and make it seem like he’s unwanted, not when the evidence of Tubbo’s visceral grief is right there in front of him.

Off in the distance, a lone figure trudges through the snowdrifts, slowly but steadily making its way closer. Tommy squints through the blinding sunlight reflecting off the ice, trying to see if it is who he desperately wants it to be.

“Tommy!” Phil calls. His vision is better due to his hybrid blood. “I think you have a visitor.”

Heart thumping in his chest, he scrambles off the windowsill and down the stairs, bursting outside in a flurry of snowflakes. He nearly slips on the frosted-over wood, barely managing to save himself from a fall by clutching the handrails. “Tubbo! Tubbo!”

His best friend is standing there, looking lost and wearing nothing but a dark green button-up and some jeans. Tommy hugs him and grabs his hand to pull him inside. It almost hurts to touch him, he’s so cold. 

“Tommy? You’re- you’re alive?” The brunette looks shell-shocked. Tommy laughs, trying to diffuse the situation with humor.

“You didn’t think I would die that fuckin’ easily, did you, big T? Takes a bit more than a shitty green man to kill me.”

Something about that statement must get through to Tubbo, because he freezes for a moment and then swiftly pulls away. “No, no, I’m dreaming,” he mutters, and Tommy’s heart sinks. “I’m dreaming, Tommy’s dead, he’s dead and I-I’m dreaming.” He curls in on himself, trembling, and Tommy has no clue what to do.

Phil nudges him aside and starts murmuring to Tubbo in quiet, soothing tones. Tommy thinks about trying to do the same, but a ping from his communicator stops him short. It’s a message from Techno, who’s standing awkwardly in the corner staring at them.

_Technoblade: he thinks you’re not real_

_Technoblade: do something that only you’d do_

Okay. “Oi Tubbo,” he interrupts, moving to stand directly in front of him. “If you were dreaming, would I be able to do this?” Then he slaps him across the face. Phil blinks, Ghostbur’s jaw drops, and Techno facepalms.

The hit wasn’t hard enough to leave a mark but it was definitely enough to sting. Tubbo raises a hand to his face, incredulous. “Did you just hit me?!” He blurts. He’s grinning.

Tommy grins back and puts his hands on his hips. “Yeah, bitch! Bet you didn’t expect that! I can’t be no fuckin’ hallucination now, bitch!” 

~

The aftermath of their reunion goes about as well as it could have.

Tubbo cries and apologizes for a good five minutes until Tommy manages to pull him into bed, bundling him up with blankets in an attempt to warm him up. Phil brings him some stew and a cup of water, and Tommy ends up holding the bowl for him because he refuses to let go of Tommy’s sleeve. After that Techno closes the blinds and leaves them curled under the sheets with a nod and a grunt.

Needing the touch, Tubbo worms his way into Tommy’s arms and buries his face in his shoulder. It’s warm and dark in the room, reminiscent of the old days when they would squish together in a cot at the back of the van, when Wilbur wasn’t dead and everything was peaceful. A moment of rest, for the two of them.

The brunette stifles a tiny yawn. There are bags under his eyes, sunken and permanently etched in from too many late nights working. Feeling soft, Tommy drops a kiss on his forehead, just a gentle reassuring brush of the lips. “You should get some sleep,” he says.

Tubbo shakes his head. “I can’t,” he mutters, sounding anguished. “If I close my eyes you’ll disappear.” He blinks once, twice, making an obvious effort to stay awake. “I can’t take that risk… I want to spend as long as possible with you.”

Big men don’t cry, so Tommy forces his eyes to stay dry. “We have all the time in the world,” he responds, pulling his best friend closer. He can hear Tubbo's heartbeat, a soothing pulse that chases away the silence for good.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for 500 kudos! You guys are the best.


End file.
